


Better than a Glass Slipper

by dr_impala221b (enigmaticNeurologist)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cinderella - Freeform, Confusion, Dragon Hunters, Fantasy, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticNeurologist/pseuds/dr_impala221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Classic Cinderella is always great, sweet little girl from a dysfunctional family falls in love with the handsome prince during a ball, which she attends thanks to her fairy godmother.  At the stroke of midnight she has to leave, and leaves a shoe behind.<br/>Cute, yes, but even cuter when little Cinderella is instead the infamous dragon hunter Dean Winchester, and Castiel is the prince and head mage.<br/>And Crowley is the fairy godmother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Copper

Dean was taunting the beast from the front while Sam ran to attack from behind.  The tactic had worked countless times before, but this time the beast swung her tail and knocked Dean's brother halfway across the clearing.  Sam landed on his side, both hands pressed to his stomach.

 "Sam!" It took everything Dean had to not drop his sword on the spot and check on his brother. But he knew from experience that just one glance away from this copper-scaled bitch could get him killed in seconds. He had to make sure his little brother was okay, both for the safety of Sammy and the safety of himself.

On his next swing Dean made sure to check his hand. The ring was still there. At least the spell work on it would keep him safe from the fire. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam on the ground, red quickly spreading its way across his tunic. Dean's jaw clenched and he gripped his sword so hard he could begin to feel his fingers going numb. Copper-scale had to go, and now. Every muscle in his body coiled with tension, Dean sprinted at his adversary, which shot a wall of flames in his direction. Holding tight to the blade in his hand, Dean felt the reassuring press of the encanted ring digging into his skin.

Two more long strides and the flames hit Dean in the face with almost enough force to throw him backwards. It was always slightly disorienting to dive into fire and feel no heat. Just pressure. A sensation similar to running straight up a waterfall. Painful, hard to breathe, but not in any way on fire. Once he hit the bright flames Dean fell to his knees and slid. Leaning back, he jabbed the sword up to its hilt into the soft flesh of the underbelly. Using the force of his whole body, he tore the blade from where it was anchored behind his head through the stomach, with enough force that once it finished the arc along the creature's belly the sword continued the swing into the ground.  Golden ichor poured from the wound, and a large section of its insides quickly became its outsides.  

The ichor was thick and sticky, and most likely warm, but Dean's ring prevented him from feeling the heat of the golden blood.  An agonized roar shook the body as it started to fall. Dean wrapped a hand around his sword and ripped it from the ground as he rolled out from beneath the creature's body.  As he went between the creature's two side legs, a pair of sharp talons caught Dean in the shoulder, tearing four cuts into the already scarred flesh.  It wasn't time to worry about that though, patching himself up could come later.  After all, what's four more scars in a network of hundreds? In seconds the copper body no longer stood tall and powerful, but lay wounded and drained.  Another conquest for Dean Winchester, a second generation dragon hunter.

Wiping his hands on his tunic, which didn't help matters much considering that he was drenched head to toe in dragon guts, Dean ran over to Sam.  "What part of you did she get?" 

Sam's face contorted in pain as he breathed in, "Rib," he forced out, his voice strained. "Lung too, maybe," Sam inhaled sharply, pressing both hands to his lower abdomen, "Cut me here." Hands still tightly placed on his stomach, Sam lifted his head off the ground and tried to sit up.  He let out a sharp groan of pain and fell back to the ground.  

"Woah, hey, slow down there.  Fuck, I'm covered in dragon blood," Dean made a failed attempt to wipe his ichor covered blade on his blood saturated clothes.  He reached out toward the center of Sam's tunic and sliced it open so he would have a clear view of all Sam's external wounds.  "Shit," Dean breathed softly.  Sam wasn't looking good. A gash trailed from his left pectoral down to his right hipbone, and the blood still pouring out of it mixed with drying sweat on his abdomen, creating a substance that his clothes stuck to.  On first glance, Dean couldn't see any part of Sam coming out of the wound, no intestines, no stomach, but there was an incredible amount of blood. 

"That bad, huh?" Sam's face looked almost translucent from the extreme blood loss. 

 _Worse_ , Dean thought, but telling Sam that wouldn't fix the cut any faster.  If anything, it would cause him to tense up and make it worse, possibly puncture a lung with his rib. "It's not that bad.  You'll need a few stitches and you'll be out of the action until you heal back up. And you will heal back up." 

Dean took his sword and cut the top half of Sam's tunic completely off.  He handed the less dirty portion to Sam, who nearly let it slip from his shaking hand.  Dean pulled off his ring and slid it into his pocket so he could check Sam's temperature.  His fingers were white, and when Dean grabbed Sam's other hand, it felt like ice.  Sam closed his eyes and pressed the torn cloth Dean gave him to the gash.  

"Dean, there's a reason dragon hunters usually don't get past their mid-twenties," Sam tried to lift his head off the ground and let out a sharp gasp, his mouth falling open in pain.  "It's okay, I can feel it. I'm bleeding out. And if you try to move me I'll get a hole in my lung.  You should go.  Fix your shoulder before it gets infected," Sam's voice grew quieter as his breathing grew heavier. "Don't feel like you have to avenge me, when Dad did that with Mom everything fell apart."

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched, his throat felt constricted, and he swallowed hard. His vision was blurry for some reason, and when he blinked to clear it he felt two cool streams cut through the dirt and blood smeared across his face.  "No, I won't avenge you. Because I'm not letting you die on me. You're going to be fine."

"Are you telling that to me, or telling that to yourself?" Sam's voice was nearly gone, his breathing stilted and labored. He let out a small laugh that turned into a wheeze.  "You're my brother, you're telling me the realm-famous Dean Winchester can slay a centuries old dragon but can't last without his bitch of a little brother?"

"We won't have to worry about that, because you're going to be okay," Dean was forcing the words out, his throat so tight he could barely speak.  His vision needed to stop swimming.  He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and it came away wet.

Sam didn't say anything back, his breath growing shallower as his eyes fluttered shut.

"No," Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders, then held Sam's head in his hands. "Fuck. No, no no no. Sam?" Sam's breath stopped ghosting against Dean's wrists.  "SAM!" Dean's voice cracked and his shout transitioned into a sob that went through his entire body.  

At the sensation of a hand on his shoulder, Dean's years of hunting kicked in and he reflexively grabbed his sword off the ground and swung it behind him.  He felt it cut into flesh, but whoever, or whatever, was behind him didn't even react to being stabbed. Dean twisted around and ended up with his face uncomfortably close to someone else's. Someone with some really fucking blue eyes.  The man stared at Dean as he gently pulled the sword out of his arm with a rather disgusting squelching noise.  Blue-eyes let the blade fall to the ground, and Dean saw that the skin on his arm was unblemished.   

"What are you?"

"I'm the one who can save your hunting partner."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that was such a short first chapter, but I kind of wanted the scene where Dean and the "Blue-eyed man" meet to be a separate one.   
> This is my first attempt at writing an au, so I apologize again if it really sucks. I also don't have a beta currently, so all spelling/grammar mistakes are mine alone.   
> I never did find out how to properly use a semicolon.   
> I would absolutely love some feedback, whether positive or negative. It can be as quick as just hitting the little "kudos" button, and if you take the time to write a comment I'll probably treasure it forever.   
> I'll try to update regularly, and I hope this is as fun to read as it is to write.


	2. Crimson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, pay attention to the archive warning. There is self-administered amputation in this chapter, and it's depicted rather graphically. A character also has a feelings that highly resemble an anxiety attack. Feel free to skim over any portions of the chapter that are out of your comfort zone, and keep yourself safe while reading. If you want me to summarize the chapter for you and put it down in the comments in a less possibly triggering way, please let me know and I would be happy to do it. I promise, after this chapter the violence and angst levels will drop significantly.   
> ~  
> If you enjoy how this story is going so far, please leave kudos <3  
> And if you want to take the time to write a comment and let me know what you think I would love you forever.

Dean looked at the hand that he didn't draw his sword with, the hand still resting on the pale cheek of his fallen brother. "If you can actually save him--,"

"Why would I lie to you?" The blue-eyed man caught Dean's gaze again and held it. "I'm here to help, I promise."

"I've heard that one before," Dean scoffed lightly. "Believing it ended up getting one of my friends killed."

"Well, your brother is already dead," Dean tensed when the man said that, like it was merely a fact. Like it wasn't something that turned the world upside down and tied knots in his heart. "Which means that you don't really have anything to lose."

Dean closed his eyes for a second to escape the blue. It almost felt indecent, to be looked at with this kind of scrutiny, this kind of  _interest_ when his brother was lying without breath a few feet away. When he re-opened his eyes he realized his face was wet again. "What do you need to do?", Dean asked, his voice deeper and rougher than normal. He cleared his throat to try to get rid of the building tightness. 

"A spell like this requires a lot of power. His soul has just left his body, so it won't take as much energy as it would if he were dead for a day or more. However, it's still a monumental amount of energy. You will need to make a contribution, need to give up something of high value that ties you to him," the man looked up at Dean through dark eyelashes. "What are you willing to sacrifice?"

Dean turned his head away from the man's bright eyes, this entire thing was too much. The next place Dean's gaze immediately went was the broken body of his little brother. A strangled noise climbed its way out of Dean's chest, and his entire rib cage felt compressed. Dean pressed the hand that wasn't still resting on Sam's cheek his mouth and swallowed hard. His breath quickened and his entire body convulsed. Everything felt wrong. It should be him lying there, not Sam. Anyone could be lying there but Sam. It wouldn't fucking matter. Nothing would matter if he left this place without his brother. A tortured noise fell from Dean's mouth, and he heard his heartbeat roaring in his ears. This was wrong. This was worse than dying, this was living when your reason to stay alive had left, this was--a hand gripped Dean's shoulder. 

"I need you to focus," the man drew Dean's eyes back to his own; but they seemed softer than before, less like ice and more like the sea. "What are you willing to sacrifice?" he repeated.

Dean could feel himself starting to shake and he couldn't stop it. His breath came in quick bursts, the roaring in his ears growing louder by the second. "Anything. I don't care. Whatever you want. Just take it. I'll give it. I'll go in his place. I'll go in his place and take someone else with me. I'll give you gold. I'll give you gems. I'll give you life-force. I'll give you blood. I'll give you my rib. I'll give you--,"

The man put his other hand on Dean's other shoulder, and Dean's breathless speech came to a halt. "Listen to me, your sword is sharp, correct?"

Dean scoffed softly, the shaking of his body lessening fractionally. "I just gutted a dragon with it, I'd like to think it's at least a little sharp."

"Will it be sharp enough to slice through bone?"

"Yes," Dean said, his arms trembling so much his palm began to slip off Sam's cheek.  Slick with a mixture of Sam's and his own sweat and blood, Dean stopped trying to keep holding Sam's cheek.  Instead, he wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist.  Sam's fingers felt like ice, and Dean placed his other hand over top of Sam's in a subconscious and futile attempt to warm it back up.

"What I need for you to do is to cut off your right hand," the man tightened his grip on Dean's shoulders and shifted slightly closer to Dean. 

Dean blinked at the bluntness of the request, momentarily taken aback.  Feeling the weight of Sam's limp hand in his own, he looked back at the man.  "When will you need it?" When it came down to losing a hand or losing Sam, it wasn't even a question. 

One corner of the man's mouth twitched up, and he gave Dean a tiny incline of his head.  "Brothers, I assume?"

"Yes," Dean removed one hand from Sam's wrist and wiped his own face with it.  All it did was smear the residual dirt, blood, and tears together.  

"Then a hand will be perfect, brothers share the same flesh and blood.  It will be a connection powerful enough to revive him.  You do know that for the spell to work, you must remove the hand yourself."

Dean gave Sam's lifeless wrist a small squeeze and then let go, picking up his sword with his left arm, "Yeah. I kind of figured that much."

"Then whenever you're ready," the man held Dean's shoulders for a second longer and let go.   At the lack of contact, a chill started at the base of Dean's neck and raced through his body. Dean resisted the urge to grab the man's steady hands and place them back. 

However, that would probably receive an adverse reaction.  Dean inhaled deeply and looked down at the sword he held with a trembling hand.  Dean's arm was shaking so much he thought he might end up accidentally dropping the blade and cutting off his foot instead.  

Dean pushed himself off the damp, blood soaked leaves that covered the ground.  The blood had congealed and plastered the several leaves to his pants.  Dean didn't bother to try to brush any of them off, he simply headed over to the nearest fallen tree.  There were plenty of downed trees in the area from the dragon fight, some scorched, others simply knocked aside with the force of the dragon's powerful tail.  Knocked aside the same way Sam was.  

Placing his hand on the rough bark, Dean set his jaw so he wouldn't accidentally bite his tongue off.  His arms were shaking, both the one with the blade and the one without.  The man stood up in one fluid movement and took a few steps away from Sam's body to get closer to Dean.  He gave Dean a soft nod, and Dean returned it, teeth clenched.  Dean took a moment to adjust his grip on the sword.  Taking a deep breath, Dean involuntarily closed his eyes and forced them back open. He swung.

Dean registered the sickening cracking noise of the bones in his wrist shattering, the wet sound of flesh being torn into.  And then the pain hit.  Not messy pain, dark pain, like dropping something heavy on your foot, or a crippling headache; but bright pain, clean pain, like smacking your funny bone on a table, or swiping your finger across a page too fast and getting a paper cut.  The brightness crawled through the remaining portion of his arm into his entire body, lighting him up so bright he felt like someone had just thrown him into the damn sun.

Everything was a blinding white, and it washed his mind clean.  No thoughts about Sam, no thoughts about dragons, no thoughts about saving anyone, no thoughts about anything.  Just white. Bright. Pure.  

Red swam around the corners of the white, staining it, tainting it, turning it from clean to messy.  From bright to fiery.  White to crimson.  

Dean's arm pulsed hot and red, the red darkening every time his heart beat.  Now the pain was dark, soiled.  A hard throbbing that sent crippling waves throughout his entire body, an uncontrollable red flow, staining the tree bark, staining the leaves on the forest floor below, seeping across the fabric of his tunic.  

At the sight of his hand lying on the tree, the red in his vision began to speckle, parts of the scene in front of him covered by growing spots of black, like ink droplets in water. 

Dean's knees gave way and he grabbed for the tree with his intact arm.  Dark spots danced across the scene in front of him.  The crimson-spattered sword lay embedded in the fallen tree, next to the bloody hand.  "Take it," he tried to tell the man, but the volume of the waves crashing in his ears were far too loud.    


"Fuck," Dean grabbed a strip of already torn fabric from his tunic and ripped it fully off.  Blue-eyes picked up Dean's hand and held it in both of his.  Under his breath, the man whispered an incantation.   Dean couldn't make out what he said, partly because he was so quiet, and partly because the throbbing beat above his eyes made all external stimulation pale.  

The bleeding would have to be slowed or he would black out completely and there would be no one to help bring Sam back home, help explain away what happened. 

After folding the fabric over itself twice, Dean then laid the cloth where his right hand used to be.  

Red flowers bloomed across the fabric.  Swallowing didn't do anything to get rid of the growing sick feeling in his stomach.  

Looking up, Dean's eyes crashed into blue.  Concern radiated through an icy layer.  The man took a step closer to Dean.  

"Stop," Dean ground out through clenched teeth as he attempted to tie a tourniquet around his wrist, "save him first."

"If I don't slow your bleeding you'll die before I can help him," his voice remained low as ever, but a note of worry had crept into it.

"I don't care, save him," Dean tightened his jaw as the fire in his wrist crescendoed.  The fire was suddenly replaced with ice, a frigid cold that numbed his entire arm.  Dean let out an involuntary gasp and looked up from his wrist in time to watch the glowing blue in the man's eyes dissipate.  

As the freezing sensation dulled, Dean watched a silvery blue film twist its way across raw scarlet.   

"Dammit, I told you to save him first," the pain of his wound had lessened from a burn to a strong ache.  The man ignored Dean and returned his focus to Dean's severed hand.  Dean's breathing was still heavy and even though the roaring in his ears had lessened, it was hard to understand the low and quiet words the man spoke.  "Are you just going to sing songs to my hand or are you going to actually do something?"

The man looked at Dean, his eyes flashing at the same time the hand began emitting an identical icy light to the one that covered Dean's wrist.  

"I don't know, are you just going to sit on the forest floor pitying yourself or are you actually going to help save your brother?" A current of restrained power ran through his voice, and the softness in his gaze had flipped back to steel.  Dean's gaze remained fixated on the man as he continued to murmur in the indistinguishable tongue.  

As he watched, Dean saw the hand shift.  The silvery blue glow flashed, so bright it caused white spots to speckle his vision, spots that changed shade each time he blinked.  By the time his sight had cleared Dean couldn't make out the hand anymore.  All that was left was a undulating icy radiance.

"You need to move, you still have a part to play in this," the words of the blue-eyed man brought Dean back from his enraptured stare.  

His left hand scraping against the fallen tree, Dean hauled himself off the forest floor.  In a few steps Dean covered the short distance between himself and Sam.  The man mirrored Dean's movements and Dean followed blue-eyes' cue to kneel next to Sam's body.  

"There's a sigil you must put on your brother's chest, paint it in your blood.  I will explain the necessity of these actions to you if you really want, but I think the best time for explaining would be after he is healed."

"After sounds fantastic," Dean adjusted the position of his feet, "what 'sigil' might this be?"

"It's," the man closed his mouth and tightened his lips, looking around as if the proper way to explain would be found in the sky.  "Give me your left hand."

"What for? You already have my right one."  

"Just give me your hand."

Dean looked at the man without a trace of a smile and extended his left hand over Sam's bare chest. The man took it in his own, balancing the light in his other hand.   Dean felt lightning shoot through where their skin came into contact.  He flinched heavily, and he started to withdraw.  The man simply held tighter, and after a few moments Dean relaxed into the grip.  Blue-eyes had nice hands, rough but not calloused, probably just dry.  The man wrapped his fingers around Dean's index finger the same way one would hold a pen, and Dean felt another bolt course through his body, this time striking lower. 

"This may hurt, I apologize," the man took Dean's finger and slid it through the blue film over his right wrist.  Red pain covered and dulled the lightning, washing over Dean's vision for a moment.  Once his sight cleared, Dean saw that the man had used the blood from the stump on Dean's right arm to draw a half circle.  He dipped Dean's finger back through the icy protective veil and everything flashed red.  Dean tried to focus on what the man was tracing, but every time he got close the man put more blood on his finger and it blurred out again.  

The man completed the final stroke of the symbol, and Dean's sight cleared long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the final sign before the man dipped his finger back through the blue to smear Dean's blood along the gash in Sam's stomach.  

The sigil was a plus sign inside a circle, and within the plus there lay lines that slightly resembled a bowtie.   

The man gave Dean's hand a surprisingly gentle squeeze and let go.  Dean felt one last bolt zing through him at the receding soft touch of the man's hand, and then he refocused on Sam.  

Glimmering blue had crawled its way across the wound that scarred Sam's torso, and the blood sigil flashed to the same iridescent color.  The man whispered a few more words into the light he held, and then blew on it gently.  The light danced from his palm into Sam's mouth, and only seconds later his body arched up and his eyes opened, shining blindingly with the same glow as the blue-eyed man's.  The blue on his chest became too bright to look at, and once the glare died down smooth skin covered his chest.   

With a hollow-sounding noise, Sam's body fell back to the forest floor and Dean hastily put Sam's head on his knee.  Expectantly, Dean watched his brother's form for any signs of life.  A flash of icy light drew Dean's attention away from Sam for a second, and he could faintly hear a deep, "You're welcome," as the blue-eyed man's form faded.  Dean scanned the forest but couldn't spot the man's tan deerskin cloak or rumpled hair.  

Dean looked back down just in time to see a rush of color shoot to Sam's face as he took a gasping breath.   

 

 


End file.
